


This Battle We Did Not Choose.

by SevadeValois



Category: Orphan Black
Genre: Canada, Disease, F/F, Fluff, Love, Russia, War, cophine - Freeform, dictature
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-14 19:41:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7187435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SevadeValois/pseuds/SevadeValois
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Russia in on fire and Cosima Niehaus is fighting for see her country free of dictature and despotism. Student in Art History she met Delphine Cormier, student in Immunology and her life changes forever. </p><p>Madly in love, the couple jostles a nice and confortable life, the dramatic situation in Russia and the role of Cosima in the struggle for a freed country. Until an incurable disease surfaces and they choose to fight back, at the front line, without thinking for a second to wave the white flag. Until the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Follow You.

**Author's Note:**

> So...I made this fiction based on the novel that I am writing. I had fun to change it for  
> this Cophine piece. I'm French...so..sorry for my English and all the mistakes you'll see.  
> I hope you will like this one. :).  
> Enjoy.
> 
> Special thanks to @vancejoy for her help with English and being my Buddy !

 

" _Love is blind, deaf and fucking dumb._ "

Bring Me The Horizon, _Follow You_ (Music Video), That’s The Spirit, 2015.

 

* * *

 

 

 

I've loved her since the first time I saw her, walking down that huge marble-decorated, oldfashioned hall with a smile on her face. A beauty spot under her mouth, her big brown-green eyes, her long, blond, curly hair, her blouse and her purse. She was walking in my direction and passed by me, without really looking at me. I watched her disappear in hallway corner leading to one of the laboratories. I was in Paris, 26 years old, as was she.

I met her just like anyone could…by chance. It was a Thursday night, only one day till the weekend, and about a week after our first encounter in the "University of Paris VII - Sorbonne Physics" hall. I was there to further my research in Modern Art History with a friend. The gala was opened to guests and partakers to the three seminars that took place there that week. Medicine from Paris VII, Physics from Paris VII and Art History from Paris I - Panthéon. It was organized to celebrate the end of that week-long series of conferences.

I stood there, talking to my friend Wassily, who had also joined me in Paris, about our next flight. I was attending my last year of PhD at the Moscow State University at the time. While I was headed to bar for a glass of champagne, I noticed someone standing on my left. I didn't recognize her at first, I only noticed her perfume. She stood there waiting for her glass of overpriced champagne, then she said "Bonsoir" all the while graciously taking it in from the waiter's white-gloved hand . I nodded once in reply. After she left, I liked her even more, stupidly standing there with my glass of champagne. And that was it for the night.

I got back to Russia with my friend Wassily the day after that gala, not managing to take the shortlived encounter with this blond and beautiful girl, in a hall where I should not have been. In the first place.

Two months went by and so did the Moscovite winter.


	2. Molecular Winter.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It started with a lighter during a cold Montreal winter...and the flame was already between them.

_"Its the strangest feeling...Feeling this way for you. There's something in the way you move. (...) I don't know what it is you do. Not one bone in your body good enough for me. But this heart is open, bloodstain on my sleeve. When our eyes meet, I can only see the end. "_

Ellie Goulding, _Something in the way you move_ \- Delirium, 2015.

 

* * *

 

Looking through my mail, I noticed I had received an invite to a seminar in Montreal at the end of February where I had to intervene as a guest from a foreign university. I was delighted. The day was February 19, Moscow was freezing cold and covered with snow. Cigarette on my lips, I watched the snowflakes on the roofs of the university across from my office. I thought about Paris and this girl.

Knock, knock, knock.

\- Da ?

\- How are you dear ? Have you received your invite ?

\- Yes Mister Kallahpov. I will be there.

\- Well, very well. Our flight is in four days.

– Who’s coming with us?

\- Wassily, Piert, Alyosha and Annushka, the whole Team. It will be nice. Everyone will take turns speaking. Prepare a laudatory speech for the department. I want to show to the Canadians that our young Russian know their Art.

\- We will, Sir.

 

Four days later, I am here, standing on Canadian soil. It was snowing, but the less cold than in Moscow. I lit a French cigarette that I brought over from Paris. Montreal University looked really modern….unlike Moscow’s. It was perhaps a bit too modern for me. All the university departments were gathered in the same place. I was walking alone in the main hall while Mister Kallahpov was, like a good tourist, in a nice restaurant and my best friends in a big shopping center. Nothing here look like what I had seen in Russia. Since I had entered this family of future “doctors”, the one in Montreal was my seventh international conference ; Paris, Berlin, Harvard, Cambridge, Sydney and Johannesburg, none of these universities looked like Montreal’s. Holding my large mug of coffee and a cigarette, I head out for smoke and some fresh air. The brisky sunlight of the end of the winter caressed my face and I closed my eyes breathing out, out, the smoke who took the form of a big white track… much like those planes leave in the sky on a sunny day.

\- Excuse-moi, aurai-tu du feu là sur toi ?, said a voice with a French Accent that I did not recognize. And that I had only heard on television.

Taken by surprise I replied in Russian.

\- Izvinite ?

Sorry ?

\- I’m sorry, your accent surprised me.  

\- Don’t worry. Have you got a lighter ?

\- Yes, I have.

Beep, beep… my phone.

\- Da…da…Yes Sir, I’ll be right there!

Without realizing it, the Unknown girl was gone. I had not recognized her with her black hat and sunglasses, not even her perfume…because my sense of smell was freezing. Shit !, I thought. People here speak a weird but nice French called the Quebecker accent. I went to France several times for my degree and I had never heard such an accent, except on television. It was nice to listen to but you had concentrate in order to fully understand. As someone born in Russia, speaking a moderately hard language and writing a Cyrillic alphabet, I mainly learned written French and I have a little more difficulty when I’m speaking it. Back at the hall of the university Mister Kallahpov was waiting for me.

-So ? What do you think of this place?

-It’s really great, perfect. A bit too modern for me…but very good.

He smiles.

\- I knew you would say it, he said. Let’s have lunch and some rest at the hotel. Our first meeting is at ten. I also want to read your speeches about our Art Department. - I sent you an e-mail yesterday night.

\- Great.

Reading in my cab, I looked at this big building. The Unknown girl was there.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Arriving at the hotel on 1228 Sherbrooke West, at the Ritz-Carlton, I could finally breathe. Mr. Kallahpov was an old Russian gentleman who loves beautiful and great places and with his youthful habits, which doesn’t displease me, because every time we stayed in insane places. After having tidy up my things in my room, I was off to the bar. They spoke Russian.

\- _Vodka, pozhaluysta_.

\- _Da_.

Even though the place would have made dream more than a person, I can’t getting used. Everytime. I love beautiful things and nice places….but not necessarily that kind of things. A small hotel on the outskirts of Montreal could equally have been the case. I did not like people when they’re expose themselves and their money at any occasion. Like everyone else, I like to have nice things, a nice watch, nice clothes, a beautiful phone or some bespoke shoes. But I hate all these people... when they’re exhibit their money everywhere, spend it in anything, like luxury suites where their dog piss everywhere. I am Russian, I am not a communist and I love beautiful things. Mr. Kallahpov accepted me as a rookie for his research because of that...and my good grades. We are part of this small circle of Russians, who love deeply America and Europe, loving Coke and whiskey with a burger and hating their president..or in our case...our dictator. We walk against the system and dispite that, oh…I love my country. The vodka at this bar was not as strong as the real Russian one. Less fresh than usual despite the ice. It was too sweet for me. But I will not play foodies at 7063 km from home.

The next day, in front my suitcase, I did not know how to dress. Mr. Kallahpov given me the first speech for our university and I was very uncomfortable in front of an audience. I opted for a Mao blue shirt, a black pant with my black Visvim shoes found in Japan last summer. I put big white ear pirecing plugs in my ears instead of the metallic ones. Mister Kallahpov doesn't really love when he can see through the holes in my ears. I always smile when I do that. I cleaned my glasses, I grabbed my bag and I joined Mr. Kallahpov in Hall with my best friends and department colleague.

 

\- Mr. Kallahpov? Are you aware of other seminars today...not only about Art History ?

\- I think there is a conference in Science this afternoon, Cosima. Unfortunately I don't have the necessary abilities, I'll be a very bad companion for this conference. But go Niehaus. Go learn new things...we're here for this after all. Show that our Mother Russia is interested in everything.

\- It was just a question Sir, but I can go there if you like.

\- No, go see the country, change your habit of the house. Make some friends, go out, talk to people.

\- Okay Sir.

 

Mr. Kallahpov has almost 85 years. He has all his head and knows supervise research better than anyone. Since my entry in Master, I dreamed of working with this man. Resistant, spy soldier and war hero in the eyes of allies. He is a very nice person and we are certainly his last students. He sees us as his own children. The orthers doctoral students of our department are envious of us. We arrived at the University of Montreal, before the start of hostilities and the organizers proposed a Canadian breakfast. It's 8: 00 am, the room was almost empty and I wanted a program about the conferences of this afternoon. I think of my Unknown Girl. The conference went very well. Mr. Kallahpov congratulated us one by one to our interventions in the conference he co-organized: The women in the painting of the seventeenth century.

 

\- I'm proud of you my children.

 

After finally got the famous program, I searched the list of speakers. Thinking about this.. it was useless, I do not even know her first name...or even her first name. I decided to go to the Biology conference named :

 

"MOLECULAR MACHINERY AND ENGINES: BIOLOGY IN SYNTHETIC MOLECULES. "

I had absolutely no idea what it could be. I'm in the History of Art, I stopped doing math or science at 16 years old and it's been ten years. The first time I saw her, it was in the Science's floor in this Parisian university where I went to see my friend Dima, my Russian friend, performing his PhD in Paris. So I figured it had to start somewhere. My friends have decided to return to the hotel to be prepare for the next conference. Coffee in hand and Russian cigarette on my lips, I pulled out the lighter from the pocket of my blazer. I decided to call my friend Dima, doing a PhD in Astrophysics at the same university as me but in Paris. This same friend that I went to see in the science's floor at the last conference in Paris, where was the Unknown Girl.

 

\- _Tovarishch Dima_ !

\- _Zdrastvouyti Tovarishch_ !

\- How is Canada?

\- Vodka is bland, I say, laughing. How is our Mother Russia ?

\- She is fine. She is fine. When are you coming back ?

\- I do not know yet, Mr. Kallahpov did not tell us… Tell me, do you remember a tall blonde in a lab in Paris, like a beautiful tall blonde ?

\- Blondes yes, tall no. Why ? Tell me more. Let me know when you’ll be back home with the Team.

\- No, it's nothing, don’t worry. I have to hang up the phone. _Da_ _svidaniya_ , _Tovarishch_.

\- _Tovarishch_.

 

My _sigarety_ finished, I joined the room shown on the brochure. I sat in the middle of the audience and the conference began. I absolutely don't understand anything of what these pundits told. I was looking at people in the crowd. I realized that I did not want to be there, I lost my time still tired from jet lag.

It is 3pm in Montreal but the sun has already set in Moscow. And in a last look, I saw her. With her blond and perfectly curly hair, she looked at me, she smiled, I smiled and she turned around. She was the next speaker.

She spoke, she spoke she spoke ; Molecules, biosynthesis, motor, brain. I absolutely don't understand anything, I just tried to listen but when I looked at her...all I can see was her beautiful face, her nice forms and her arms moving while she was talking.

" _Many biological processes involve molecular motors (natural). These motors are composed of proteins whose set in motion, usually triggered by ATP hydrolysis, the "oil" biological, corresponds to a specific and important function. Among the most spectacular examples we can cite the ATPsynthase, true rotary engine responsible for the manufacture of ATP. For the synthesis chemist, developing entirely artificial molecules, whose behavior resembles that of biological systems, is a formidable challenge. The laboratory…._ ".

I fell asleep. I opened my eyes completely when all these scientists began to applaud. Not to pass for someone completely disconnected, I applaud too. The conference was over and I needed a coffee.

 


	3. Enchanté à Midi 20.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One "Enchanté" and I was done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy ! :).

" _Obviously, I was not alone, I wanted to met new persons. There were a lot of people and nobody walked in the same direction...So I kept straight but doubt took place. I didn't know what was I doing there, even less, where I had to go. But along the way, over time, I made awesome met._ "

Grand Corps Malade - _Rencontres_ \- Midi 20, 2006.

 

" _Évidemment, j'étais pas tout seul, j'avais envie de faire connaissance. Y'avait un tas de personnes et personne marchait dans le même sens. Alors je continuais tout droit mais un doute s'était installé. Je savais pas ce que je foutais là, encore moins où je devais aller. Mais en chemin, au fil du temps, j'ai fait des sacrées rencontres._ "

Grand Corps Malade - _Rencontres_ \- Midi 20, 2006. 

 

* * *

 

 

I stood up, and looked around me. I turned around, and she there she was. She was headed towards me, outstretching her arm to shake my hand. She smiled, her curls jiggled, coffee in one hand and her purse on her shoulder. I smiled, everything around her was starting to blur. A beautiful song came to my mind. She walked slowly. I heard nothing. She introduced herself to me like that, just outstretching her arms, ready to shake my hand. I was already in-love.

 

\- Delphine Cormier. _Enchanté_.

 

" _Enchanté_. "

 

\- My name is Cosima Niehaus. Nice to meet you.

 

I was smiling. She was beautiful. So beautiful.

 

\- Did you like it ?

\- Oh, this is absolutely new to me. I came to learn. But it sounded very interesting.

 

She laughed, a wide open smile.

 

\- Thanks for the lighter yesterday, I left like a thief, I was late. I am sorry.

\- Come on, don't worry about that.

\- And what's your field of studies ?

\- Art. XVI, XVII and XVIII century Art.

\- You’re taking part to the conferences in the other wing ? With literature and linguistics.

\- Yes I am.

\- What is your beautiful accent ?

\- I’m with the Moscow team.

\- How many of you are there ?

\- We're _pyat_.

\- _Pyat_ ?

\- Five, sorry.

 

We were silent, until she asked me :

\- There is a reception this evening, followed by an after party. Will Team Russia join us ?

\- I don't know, our director wants to talk about our day and we need to prepare our speeches for tomorrow. If it is not too late, I will, yes.

\- I have to go. My director is waiting for me. I hope to see you tonight then.

 

I didn’t get the time to answer her, as she had already left. She suddenly turned around.

 

\- _Da svidaniya_.

\- Au revoir, I said smiling.

 

It was absolutely necessary for me to have my night off. I had to go to this party. I met the Unknown Girl, my Unknown Girl and found out her name: Delphine. I tried to repeat it in my head but it was difficult. During the debriefing, Mr. Kallahpov was particularly proud. I should have listened with all my attention. It's not every day that the Russian expert in Modern Art History expresses his pride and gratitude with so much joy…and I thought of my Unknown Girl....not "that" Unknown anymore.

 

\- Cosima ? Are you with us ?

\- Yes, Sir, sorry.

\- I understand, the day was long for all of us.

 

Mr. Kallahpov finally concluded his speech.

 

\- Send me your texts, I'll read them as soon as I'll get them. We'll make a debriefing tomorrow morning. Go to that party kids. Have Fun, Canada is yours tonight. You will not have fun as much as I did when the war was over but you can always try.

 

We laughed and left him, shaking our hands.


End file.
